The New Normal
by starlight.moon.princess
Summary: There are few places odder than Night Vale - Desert Bluffs happens to be one of them, as poor Cecil can account for. (Of course, that depends on if he'll ever be able to talk about that nightmarish day again.) :: Spoilers for episodes 19A and B ::


Cecil might not have been a genius – not like his beautiful, perfect Carlos was – but he wasn't stupid either. As much as he loved Night Vale, he was well aware of the fact that in the larger scheme of things, the town wasn't exactly – well, _normal_. After all, he'd spent time in Europe, and was well aware of what normal looked like. And the books he ordered from Amazon let him know just what the outside world was like.

He didn't mind the fact that Night Vale was perhaps the oddest town in the world, so it wasn't something that mattered to him. He was _proud_ of the weirdness of Night Vale – he had no clue how the rest of the world could function without the hooded figures, City Council, and the vague yet menacing government agency, and he had no desire to find out. After all, without things like Taco Tuesdays (where people were randomly chosen to be sacrificed to the taco god, John) and turquoise skies with a chance of taupe in the evening, society had almost certainly broken down into chaos in the outside world, unlike, of course, the situation in Night Vale.

In Night Vale, there had never been anything to break into chaos. Chaos was what Night Vale was, and what it always woul-

But that was a digression, and besides, the City Council had announced only yesterday that Night Vale was _not_ in chaos. In fact, it was the most organised town in the universe.

So yes, Cecil Palmer was aware that his beloved Night Vale wasn't normal – but it wasn't like he cared about it, so it didn't exactly matter.

And then came that _day_. That utterly horrible, horrifying day that would always be one of the worst in his existence, surpassed only by the day he had thought Carlos – his beautiful, perfect Carlos – was dead.

For all that a sandstorm was busy raging across Night Vale, he was perfectly happy in his little recording booth. He knew that Carlos was out of the way of the sandstorm and his double in his lab, as were most of the people he cared about in the town. In fact, the only person who he knew well who was in danger was Steve Carlsberg, and that was a good thing. If Steve Carlsberg happened to die – perhaps he would even kill his double before dying, which could only be a good thing – then perhaps he would finally stop raining on people's parades – sometimes, literally.

Then the vortex – that black, almost indigo vortex – started to form along his studio wall. He didn't want to leave the studio – he had a job to do, after all, and besides, him leaving would probably upset Station Management, which was really, _really_ the last thing anyone wanted to do – he couldn't help but think about intern Dana. Or intern Dana's double, whichever one she was.

One of them had died so bravely, clutching the email in her hand – so utterly nobly, she had sacrificed herself for the cause of community radio – and he wouldn't dishonour her memory by being a coward. He was a _journalist_, and the people _deserved_ to know!

…Well. Unless City Council told them not to know, of course.

But still. He had a duty to go through the vortex, no matter how terrified he was. If he didn't, he would no longer be able to show his face around the town – especially not to someone as brave and perfect as Carlos.

With Carlos' face wedged tightly in his mind, he scrunched his eyes shut and stepped tentatively through the vortex.

* * *

He hadn't expected to turn up – _here_.

He had known – for all that he had told his listeners that violence wasn't the option, he had _known_ – that the doubles couldn't be anything but utterly and completely evil. Still, never in his wildest dreams (and he'd had some particularly wild ones, like the one with the mountain ranger – everyone knew mountains didn't exist, after all) had he expected that stepping through the vortex would lead his to the world of the doubles.

And this world-

"Carlos," he whimpered faintly, taking in his surroundings. He had to do this for Carlos and Dana. He couldn't-

There was a glint of white on the floor, and it was all he could do not to scream out loud. He was in a radio booth, but it wasn't anything like his nice, clean and tidy booth back home. The horrors of this place- The blood-

He reached wildly for the microphone. He needed to do something familiar to calm his nerves. He was a _radio professional_, and he couldn't lose his nerve while he was on the air – Night Vale was counting on him to return with the information of this horrific, forsaken place.

"Hellooo?" he said into the microphone, casting nervous on his surroundings. Who knew what other horrors were hiding in this booth from hell.

He continued talking – he had to. It was the only way he knew of that would stop him from going insane and being forced to join Lady Margaret in the Night Vale Sanatorium, which was full of terrifying things, like blue and spiders. But even as he talked, the state of the booth played on his mind.

"…the walls are covered in blood, and instead of dials and buttons on the soundboard, there is just animal viscera, glistening under the green LED lights." He couldn't resist describing the state of the studio – if, by any stroke of luck, there was a Night Vale citizen somehow listening in, they would know they had to get him out of there immediately.

And then he saw- he saw- "The window into the control booth is shattered and there is a swath of skin and a fistful of long clumping hair hanging from a sharp glass point!" he practically moaned into the microphone. This place- he needed to get out- needed to get out out outoutOUT of here and back to his beautiful, peaceful, _perfect_ Night Vale.

It was embarrassing that it took him so long to realise just how he could manage it. the vortex was the obvious answer, but he had been distracted both by the state of the radio booth and that photo- that _photo_ of the man who looked so much like him, but had black-obsidian eyes. The man who was so, _so_ wicked and vicious, his double that he had somehow managed to avoid until now.

He didn't know where the doubles' universe was – all he knew was that it was horrible and that he needed to get out; to leave and never come back, allowing it to bury itself into the recess of his mind so that he could forget all about the experience.

He needed to return home to Night Vale, and to his beautiful, perfect Carlos.

It was with those two images in his mind that he clenched his eyes shut once again, and stepped through the white vortex that swirled on the wall of the hellish studio. Posters of a smiling god watched him leave silently.

* * *

This time, he didn't immediately return to his booth in Night Vale – his comfortable, familiar booth. This time, he was trapped somewhere, perhaps the gap between the world, and he had to walk to the other entrance to the vortex, the one that would return him home.

If only that could have been a simple walk. If only- If only he could have been given some time to process the world he had just been subjected to. But the doubles were cruel, and he wasn't yet so lucky.

The man – that wretched, foul _devil_ of a man from the photo in that hellish booth – was there in the meeting place of worlds with him. He was walking out of the vortex he was going towards, and Cecil felt a moment of panic. He couldn't even begin to imagine what that- that _beast_ had been saying to the residents of his precious town.

But that worry was only momentary, because as soon as they reached a meeting point, the only thing he could feel was the press of arms and the burning in his lungs. Somehow, he managed to push the man away, turning the tables on him. It would have been so easy for him to-

But no. He had told his listeners that violence wasn't the answer, and he wasn't about to degrade himself by allowing himself to fall to the level of his double. It would be made even worse if he continued the way he was going – the creature in front of him had tried the same tactics on him, and allowing himself to choke him to death would make him just as bad.

Withdrawing his arms, he quickly ran towards the portal. It would all be better as soon as he got home- It would all be better…

* * *

Cecil had never really thought of Night Vale as normal – at least, not since he had been exposed to the rest of the world. He didn't care – he liked his town the way it was, odd and strange or not.

But as he finally took his first step back into his radio booth – back to his beloved, perfect Carlos –he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief and thank god (not City Council, Station Management and the hooded figures, of course) for the sheer _normality_ of his town.

* * *

**an: cecil's description of the desert bluffs radio station has been transcribed from the episode 19B The Sandstorm.  
i'm pretty sure he's a slight bit ooc here in his acknowledgement of the oddness of night vale, but with canon admission that the citizens of the town have some knowledge of the outside world - the mentions of europe, the city council taking vacations to the 'normal' world during street cleaning day, and the references of having amazon deliveries - i'm pretty sure that they would have realised that their world isn't exactly teh same as the outside world.  
**

**i hope you guys liked it! as always, please don't forget to drop a review on your way out! :)**


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